


Best Laid Plans

by scarletalphabet



Category: NCIS
Genre: Community: nfacommunity, Doctor Who References, M/M, NFA SeSa 2013, Star Trek References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-09 11:09:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1145268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletalphabet/pseuds/scarletalphabet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>McGee has resigned himself to another Christmas alone when he hears a sudden knock at the door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Best Laid Plans

**Author's Note:**

> I found the Star Trek parody McGee sings at http://www.gregroelofs.com/humor/trekmas.html, so credit goes to whomever created it. In the magic of fanfiction this takes place in a contemporary timeline as far as pop culture goes but a non-season related NCIS timeline that includes Ziva. Written for the NFA SeSa 2013 exchange.

 

McGee looked up from the pile of paperwork on his desk (shouldn't it all be digitized these days?), straining his ears to hear what he swore was the faint jingle of bells. He looked over to Ziva's desk, seeing her ears perk up as well. “You hear it too?” he asked.   
  
“If you are referring to that metal ringing sound,” Ziva explained slowly, “Then yes.”  
  
Tony's head shot up at their exchange. “Is it what I think it is?” His eyes grew wide with delight. “It is!” He beat a drum roll against his desk with two pens. Grabbing a rolled up piece of paper as an imitation megaphone he turned to face Ziva. “Ladies—” he turned to Gibbs and McGee “—and Gentlemen!” He paused for dramatic effect, but was met with nothing but silence and puzzled looks. “I give you the one! The only! Miss Abigail Sciuto, the Christmas Fairy!” He flung his arms towards the entrance to the bullpen, glancing over only at Abby's amused chuckle.  
  
“A little off,” she said, finally rounding the corner with a cardboard box in her hands. “But I appreciate the effort.” She placed the box down to rest on the corner of Tony's desk. “For that you get first pick.”  
  
“First pick?” Ziva asked.   
  
“Abby baked last night,” Tony explained. Shooting a quick glance at Gibbs he added, “By which I mean sugary delicious treats of course. Not any other sort of baking.”  
  
Gibbs didn't even spare a shake of his head for Tony's comment.   
  
“Right,” McGee said, determined to steer the conversation back on track despite the distraction of the twinkling red antlers on Abby's head. “So how did you get in on this?”  
  
“Why McFruitcake, you doubt my baking expertise?” Tony joked.  
  
McGee fought the urge to roll his eyes. He had to admit that the occasional McNickname was somewhat clever, but for the most part they were old before they'd begun. Few of Tony's attempts lately had even merited the effort of an eye roll.  
  
Abby stepped in to the conversation with a slight nod of warning to Tony. “Tony and I arrived at the same time this morning,” she explained. “He was kind enough to help me in with a few things. It's kind of hard to wave a badge and open a door with several pounds of gingerbread and fudge in your arms.”  
  
Tony rubbed his hands together in excitement, peering into the box. “Which shall it be?” he wondered. “Mysteriously wrapped baked good number 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, or 6?” He plucked a package out and unwrapped it with unusual reverence. “Jackpot!” he exclaimed as he sampled a small corner. “Dark chocolate gingerbread.” He inclined his head towards Abby in a gesture of thanks. “My compliments to the chef.”   
  
Abby took a few minutes to make her rounds around the bullpen and perched herself on the edge of Ziva's desk, the box at her feet. “So who drew the short straw this time?” she asked.  
  
“Donovan's team,” McGee answered, his words slurred by heavenly peppermint fudge that managed a perfect balance of thickness and smoothness. “Artie's not happy about it, but somebody's got to do it. At least they didn't have it last year.”  
  
“I for one am looking forward to a few days off,” Ziva said. “I have been dying to go to New York City and Adam has promised me a...what is it called...behind the stage tour of the theatre where he works.”  
  
“Behind the scenes or backstage,” Abby supplied. “Though I guess in the case of a theatre that would work. I mean if a lot of the dressing rooms and prop areas are behind the stage then it technically would be a behind the stage tour, although that would leave out the actual stage itself, not to mention the orchestra pit and such.” She cocked her head toward Ziva. “What production does he work for?”  
  
“I think it is called Kinky Boots?” Ziva guessed.  
  
“Oh I've heard that's great!” Abby exclaimed with glee. “I've only heard a few of the songs myself but they're very catchy. And the things those men can do in heels...”  
  
“I have not seen a show in years so it will be nice regardless,” Ziva said. “Unfortunately Adam will be quite busy most of the time, but he assures me that I will have no lack of entertainment in the city at Christmas time.”  
  
“Okay, you totally have to go ice skating at Rockefeller Center,” Abby told her, the words nearly tripping over each other in her enthusiasm. “I don't care if it's a tourist trap or whatever. Totally worth it just for the atmosphere.”  
  
“I will put that on my list,” Ziva assured her.   
  
“How about you, Gibbs?” Abby asked. “The usual?”  
  
Gibbs had been lured from his work by the temptation of the small wrapped package sitting on his desk, but not distracted enough to actually open it yet. “You know me well,” he acknowledged, flicking one finger under the tape on one side to carefully open it. “The usual. Might even convince Fornell to come this year.”  
  
McGee's phone beeped, drawing his attention away from the conversation. His brow furrowed when he saw that it was a text from Sarah, who had promised not to call or text him during work unless absolutely necessary. Thumbing the alert he brought up the message. “Julian got time off. Would it be terrible if I canceled to go with him?” McGee frowned, wrinkling his nose as he mulled over his response. Sarah had promised to visit him for Christmas in an effort to work on building family ties, particularly around the holidays. He had been planning for days, stocking up on Christmas food and entertainment that they could share, and vigorously cleaning every corner of his apartment. He tried to stamp down on his rising sense of annoyance that she would erase all his hard work with a simple text, but who was he to deny her the opportunity to spend Christmas with her boyfriend and his family? If he had a romantic partner to spend Christmas with, wouldn't he be drawn to the same possibility? He sighed, the feeling of guilt at being angry over such a human desire smothering his reluctance to accept it. Quickly thumbing back an answer of “Can't say no. Call me later though?” he slipped the phone back into his pocket and turned his head back up to the team.  
  
They were sitting there, staring at him with silent expectation. “Sorry?” he asked, wondering just what he'd missed.  
  
“Your plans,” Abby said.   
  
McGee inhaled and let his breath out with a slow sigh of exasperation. “Sarah was supposed to come to DC,” he explained. “But she's dating this guy who's in medical school, and apparently he was suddenly granted two days off at Christmas so she's going to stay with him. Can't really blame her though.”  
  
“Poor McGee,” Abby consoled. “If I wasn't going on a woman's Christmas retreat I'd totally invite you.”  
  
“You could come to the singles Christmas party,” Tony offered. “One low price for beer and babes.”  
  
McGee shook his head. Even if didn't feel an oncoming wave of glumness at another Christmas alone, such a glitzy party didn't really appeal to him. “Thanks Tony,” he replied, “But I've got good food and Doctor Who to look forward to so I think I'm just going to enjoy the downtime for once.”   
  
McGee couldn't quite shake his mood for the rest of the day despite his looking forward to a few good days off.  
  


********

  
  
McGee hummed Christmas carols as he bustled around his apartment, fixing decorations and putting the finishing touches on a mini-Christmas feast. Despite the fact that his plans had fallen through, he flatly refused to re-succumb to the somber mood that the prospect of a lonely Christmas had threatened to invoke a couple of days before, particularly when there was new Doctor Who in a few short hours. One good thing about being alone for Christmas was that no one could hear his questionable parodies of classic Christmas music. “Oh the vacuum outside is endless,” he sang, “Unforgiving, cold, and friendless, but still we must boldly go—make it so, make it so, make it so.” He adjusted a miniature Santa hat on the Dalek figurine that sat next to his television, setting it askew ever so slightly to give it the appearance of a jaunty attitude.   
  
He fixed himself a plate from his mini-Christmas buffet, opting to choose one of his slightly better plates in the aim of creating a holiday atmosphere. Just as he sat down he heard a knock at his door that nearly caused him to upset his drink all over the floor. Carefully setting his drink on a coaster he made for the door. Who would be coming around at this time, on Christmas Day especially? If there was an emergency at work somebody would have called. Everyone else he knew had reasons to be anywhere else than but with him. He peered through the peephole in the door before he opened it. Tony? He opened the door and Tony barged into the apartment without explanation.  
  
“Welcome?” McGee said, half in invitation and half in confusion. He watched as Tony stood there in his kitchen, his posture unusually withdrawn and tentative. Opening his mouth to ask Tony what was going on he immediately shut it as he realized that he didn't know what to say. Now that he thought of it, Tony's behavior in the bullpen the other day had been unusual. No jealousy-tinged barbs about Ziva's mysterious man, no leering jokes about how boots could be considered kinky. Even his enthusiasm about the singles party had sounded hollow. Clearly something serious had been bothering Tony and McGee did not want to approach him cavalierly. He tapped the floor absently as he tried to find a safe subject. The party was definitely out. Christmas itself likely was as well. Food? Food was safe.   
  
McGee opened a cabinet and drew out a plate. Holding it out to Tony he asked, “Hungry? I've got plenty of food. There's beer in the fridge and even some of this cider that Sarah swears by.”  
  
“Trying to get me liquored up?” Tony joked, a hint of cheer creeping into his voice.   
  
“Is-is it working?” McGee responded, stumbling over his words as he weighed whether or not humor was the best idea. If it would genuinely help Tony then he was all for it. He threw in a mock leer for good measure.   
  
“Ask me in a couple of hours,” Tony said, turning to the food.   
  
McGee exhaled slowly, letting himself enjoy a renewed sense of optimism. Maybe postponing his interrogation for a couple of hours would prove the better course of action. Tony already looked far more relaxed than he had when he'd entered the apartment. Who knew what another couple of hours would do.  
  


********

  
  
Tony arched one eyebrow at the screen. “You mean you're telling me that scrawny guy re-whatevers into that angry looking old guy?” he asked.  
  
“Regenerates,” McGee corrected, staring at the tv in shock. He hadn't completely avoided spoilers for it, which was a nigh-Herculean task on a good day, but he just couldn't believe that Moffat had done that. “I guess a sucker is born every minute,” he mumbled to himself, stifling a yawn. It wasn't anything against the episode (he was sure he'd warm up to it eventually) but the food and alcohol were dragging his energy levels down like quicksand.  
  
“It's a shame,” Tony continued. “I was kind of digging the bow tie.” He mimed straightening his own imaginary bow tie. “So how many times has this regeneration thing happened?”  
  
“Depends what you count” McGee said, hesitant to give in to glee at the possibility that he was, however unintentionally, on his way to making a Whovian out of Tony. He yawned again, trying to hide it behind his hand as he gestured towards his DVD collection. “If you want a fashion statement check out the ones that say 'The Peter Davison Years.' Can't find my set of The Colin Baker Years.'”  
  
Tony shrugged and headed over to browse McGee's collection. “You're the expert.”   
  
McGee watched as Tony ran his fingers over each case, never stopping long enough to pay any particular one the slightest bit of attention. “We can watch something else if you want,” McGee offered. “I've got a few of the classic Christmas movies, though probably not as many as you have.”  
  
“That's the strange thing about holidays,” Tony blurted out, his back still turned to the DVDs. “For the longest time it's been parties and drinks and women. And don't get me wrong, I've enjoyed myself plenty. It just...didn't feel the same this time.” Tony selected one DVD case, seemingly at random, and dropped it onto the coffee table. He flopped back down on the couch, resolutely staring at the television.  
  
McGee was not about to point out that Tony had been acting off since long before the party. He felt a strange desire to grab Tony by the shoulders and tell him that everything was going to be alright (since when was that his usual approach to anyone, especially Tony?) but he settled for what he hoped were reassuring words. “Well...things change,” he said. As soon as the words left his mouth he wanted to bang his head repeatedly against the table. Really, that was the best he could come up with? With his extensive vocabulary and writing experience? Both he and the team had endured far more life-threatening circumstances, but there was something about the last couple of hours that had him feeling like a jittery schoolkid.  
  
“Things change,” Tony echoed, blissfully unaware of McGee's mental turbulence. “I guess you're right, though maybe what doesn't change matters too. It's just how you look at it.” He gave a derisive snort. “Sounds like some Hallmark bullshit. You know, I don't even know why I'm telling you all of this.” Tony picked up a bottle off of the coffee table and tossed it about in his hand before abstractedly picking at its label. “Must be the beer.” He shook his head and finally turned to look at McGee. “They call it liquid courage for a reason.”  
  
“Courage for what?” McGee prompted, firmly stamping down a fluttering of hope for an answer that he couldn't quite identify as his rational mind pointed out that Tony had only had two beers in the last two hours. He looked down at the couch, noticing that they were quite a bit closer than they had been when they'd first sat down.  
  
Tony looked pointedly at McGee, his gaze equal measures challenging and defensive. “To change the status quo,” he replied. He inched forward, stopping just in front of McGee's now upturned face.  
  
McGee swallowed nervously. Was it worth the risk? Did he really want another screwed up relationship? Did he really want to change the kind of closeness that his friendship with Tony entailed? To feel the thrill of Tony's hands running—“Gods yes,” he murmured, his thoughts turning decidedly more physical as he felt the heat of Tony's body close to his.  
  
Tony took that for a cue, darting forward to meet McGee's lips with his own in a clumsy mash of aggression and relief. McGee's eyes fluttered closed as he tasted the light tang of hops that still lingered on Tony's lips, rough from earlier hours spent in the cold. He groaned into the kiss and barely had time to wonder just what to do with his arms when the pressure of Tony's lips vanished. McGee was too bewildered by the sudden action to comprehend much of anything for a long, silent moment.   
  
When he opened his eyes he saw Tony peering at him warily, waiting for a reaction. “That was,” McGee started, still recovering from his daze. “That was unexpected. But not undesired.” He shifted on the couch, his jeans a little tighter than they'd been several minutes before. “No, not undesired.”  
  
“I'm not gay you know,” Tony declared firmly as he withdrew, shrinking back into a more defensive posture as he thought aloud. “Chicks are hot. It's just...” He trailed off as though looking around the apartment would net him the words he was looking for. “It's just...fuck it. Stupid as it sounds, it's just you.”  
  
“I can live with that,” McGee replied with a smile. He couldn't think of a better explanation than the one that Tony was fighting to relate, but it did seem to fit. “And even if you were, I could hardly complain.” He leaned back against the couch, hiding a yawn behind the pretense of fixing the pillows. Part of him very much wanted to continue exploring his fragile new relationship with Tony, but he knew that too much change, particularly when his mind was addled from fatigue, could do far more damage than good.  
  
“Right,” Tony said. He relaxed from his tensed posture which had been blaring an alarm that returning back to something comfortable and safe was overdue, despite their mutual interest. Enough time in the deep end. He got up to put the forgotten disc into the DVD player and sat back down, visibly more serene than he had been for days. “Now how about this Doctor guy, the one with...what was it you said? Celery?”  
  
“I think you'll like him,” McGee mumbled drowsily, thrilled that Tony had sat down about as close to him as possible without outright cuddling. He knew that Tony could be an affectionate guy, but he also knew that it would take time for Tony to come to grips with the change in their relationship. To be perfectly honest, he wasn't ready himself to rush headlong into a physical or emotional relationship despite some of his baser desires. “Not many could pull off a decorative vegetable like that,” he pointed out. McGee smiled as the theme music started its electronic twang, the familiar tune lulling him at last into sleep.


End file.
